


The Con

by nicayal



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Bank Robbery, Crimes & Criminals, Flirting, Gay Character, Gay Male Character, Heist, Humor, M/M, Multi, One Shot, Organization XIII - Freeform, Organized Crime, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 18:48:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3702309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicayal/pseuds/nicayal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Planning to rob Twilight Town's First National Bank would be a lot easier if Zexion weren't surrounded by such complete and utter incompetence. A new addition to the Organization promises to change all that, but only if Number Eight doesn't let his temper get the best of him yet again.</p><p>Kingdom Hearts one-shot. AkuRoku-ish | Older fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Con

**Author's Note:**

> This was my Secret Santa gift for Wolvenhalo on deviantArt from...2011 or 2012. I forget. One of her wish list gifts was the following prompt: _Anything drabbly with any KH characters, as a hilarious incompetent team in a room with a blueprint, trying to plan to rob a bank._

 

If ever there was proof Xemnas wanted him to suffer, Zexion felt certain it was presented in the form of Numbers Eight and Twelve standing before him now.

Those two could bicker something terrible, and it was beginning to grate on his nerves. Heavily.

He couldn't even be certain what they were arguing about, nor did he care. He simply drew the line at seeing his hair go up in flames thanks to a poorly aimed firestorm on Eight's part.

Side-stepping the flame's trajectory by mere inches, the blaze hit the parchment he'd spread out onto a table before them in the small room they were currently occupying. Immediately, it singed the edge, flames licking closer and closer to his plans. Moving quickly, Zexion snuffed it out with the arm of his cloak, his colleagues still arguing nearby, oblivious to his growing irritation.

Fixing one visible and clearly irate eye on the pair, Zexion spoke in a low dangerous tone. "Either pay attention or get a room, if you feel that's more important than following direct orders. Regardless, shut up, or I will shut you up myself."

Finally, some silence, as venomous green eyes met his gaze. "Is that a challenge, Zexion?"

Number Six noted with clear disinterest the way his colleague's hands balled into fists and flexed again as though preparing for another attack.

"No, Axel," he replied, closing his eyes for a moment in exasperation before fixing a pointed stare toward the red-head in front of him. "It's a promise."

Before Eight could react, a gust of wind threw him back against the room's concrete wall, shackles appearing and snapping over his wrists, restraining the red-head quite effectively.

Nearby, a feminine tone snickered, and Zexion turned to regard Number Twelve as well.

"One word, Larxene.  _One word_ , and you'll be right next to him. I've had enough of this infantile behavior," Zexion said, his voice curt. "You're supposed to be professionals."

The smirk never left her face, but the woman held her tongue. Close enough, Zexion supposed with a barely repressed sigh. Now, maybe they could get something productive done while awaiting the arrival of their fourth associate.

He turned back to his barely salvaged plans.

"Now," he began, voice level and unconcerned, "Twilight First National Bank closes at six." A fine number, as far as Zexion was concerned. If he believed in fate or good fortune, it might even have been better. "They have regular security during their hours of inoperation. I expect you've both read the report I sent earlier as to their projected breaks and the optimal time for entry on our part."

Although it wasn't a question, both Twelve and Eight nodded, Eight still flexing experimentally against his bonds.

"Number Six, you can release me now," Eight ventured, voice low, as though the red-head was struggling between a high level of fury and an adequate level of submission.

Zexion did not turn back toward Eight, eyes intently perusing the building plans before him instead. "You can release yourself, Eight, whenever you wish. You know my powers extend to nothing more than a mere illusion."

The fact that Eight began to struggle and still couldn't move from his place at the back wall was noted, although not directly commented upon. The corners of Zexion's mouth did curve slightly upward on one side in a knowing smirk, however.

"The electronic security should pose no issue for you, Twelve, I expect."

Although the inquiry was rhetorical, the woman spoke up, making her way over toward Eight in the process. "Not a problem at all, sir. In fact, I expect their simple measures of security to fall without issue."

As if to demonstrate, Twelve snapped her fingers, and the crackling sound of static electricity filled the room, along with a red-orange hue, as a small bolt hit Eight, forcing already spiky hair to stand rather violently upright.

" _Fuck_ , Larxene!" The words were half-growled as Axel made an attempt to lunge toward the woman, restraints clanging as he was held back in place.

"I'd rather not," Zexion replied mildly, eyes still cast downward, unconcerned.

"Now Eight," he continued, as though nothing had happened, "will take care of any human patrols with what I expect will be the utmost of discretion, given the delicate nature of the current assignment." As he spoke, Zexion's one visible eye trailed over the building plans with care, as though memorizing each detail in tandem. "I, of course, will be monitoring your progress from a safe distance, available to intervene in the event it is necessary. Is this all understood?"

Although Twelve nodded in understanding, Eight's brow furrowed, momentarily distracted from his fury as he seemed to repeat the instructions silently to himself.

"Sir," he said, speaking between gritted teeth, apparently not appreciative of the need for manners under the current circumstances. Zexion looked up, fixing his gaze on Eight, giving him leave to continue.

And continue Eight did, speaking as though he was working through a puzzle as he went.

"If those are our only duties, who is going to be the one to actually enter and carry out the—"

To his right, the sound of a door clicking open cut him off. All eyes on the room turned in the direction of the sound, trained on the new arrival who was entering.

It was Zexion who turned away first.

"You were wondering who would actually retrieve the goods," he said, finishing Eight's question in a smooth, level tone.

Eight simply nodded, eyes still fixed on the new arrival.

"I expect that would be my job," a youthful voice replied.

"Indeed." Zexion nodded. "The last role in our assignment is to be completed by Number Thirteen."

From his place restrained at the back of the room, green eyes widened, nostrils flaring just slightly as the words registered.

"Number  _what_?"

Blond hair and blue eyes turned to regard him. From his place across the room, Zexion merely raised one eyebrow. "Last I checked, Eight, there was nothing wrong with your hearing."

Pert pink lips turned up into a thin smile at his superior's comment, returning Eight's gaze with a calm one of his own. Frustrated, Eight clamped his mouth shut, eyes still stuck on the newcomer, unwavering.

Nearby, the woman whistled a bit in awe. "Xemnas inducted a kid into the Organization?"

"He's older than he looks," Zexion was quick to reply, his voice taking on an impatient tone. "It's presumptuous to judge a work colleague by their outward physical appearance, wouldn't you agree, Twelve?"

The woman scowled, but said nothing.

"At any rate," Zexion forged onward, "we have work to do."

Dressed in basic checkered street clothes, the newest recruit sauntered forward, stopping a respectful distance from Zexion, but still close enough to look over the plans.

"I expect you're already familiar with the different means of entry and routes toward the main vault?"

Blond hair bobbed in agreement, eyes trained intently on the plans as if verifying. "They're committed to memory, sir."

"Good," Zexion muttered. "At least one of you here is acting like the professional you're all supposed to be."

"That's hardly fair, considering my current position," Eight shot back, much to Zexion's annoyance.

"And by that he means gawking at the newbie like he wants to get in his pants," Twelve quipped.

The blond turned, a picture of innocent surprise on his face. Zexion's expression was far less accommodating.

Before he could speak though, the bonds that held Eight suddenly vanished in a puff of fine mist. Zexion watched as the tall red-head approached Twelve, a menacing expression on his face. Hands clenching and unclenching, Zexion noted the acrid smell of smoke ever increasing within the confines of the small room, flames licking at his fingertips as he got closer. It'd figure Eight would find a way out of his bonds due to a fit of anger rather than by more intellectual means.

"This is highly unprofessional. Axel!"

But Zexion's protests were cut off by a bit of a shriek as Twelve dodged a jet of flames aimed straight at her face.

"What the  _fuck_  are you talking about, Larxene?" he seethed in what to Zexion appeared to be an attempt at a mighty display of testosterone.

Twelve merely laughed though, eyes trained on Eight. "I know your tastes well enough by now," she practically chirped, dodging another flame aimed her way in the process. A slender finger pointed at Thirteen almost teasingly. "And that one fits the bill almost exactly."

"The hell he does," Eight roared. "He looks like he's fucking twelve."

If he'd have stopped to look, Eight might have noticed the hard glean in a pair of blue eyes, the hand raised to stop Zexion from intervening. As it stood, Eight was pretty much only seeing red at this point. Red and the tail end of a conniving, bitchy nymph retreating out of his range.

But then blond hair, blue eyes invaded his vision, and a sweet voice called his name.

"Axel, did you say your name was?"

Eight blinked, lowering his hand as he took a step back to regard the new recruit. The boy was smiling, eyes wide, lips tempting.

On second thought, he looked a lot more legal up close…

The boy, Thirteen, leaned in almost conspiratorially. "You might need to help here, me being new and all."

Thirteen stepped closer, and unconsciously Eight took a step back, swallowing hard in the process, Twelve almost entirely forgotten as he tried to think of something —  _anything_  — apart from those angelic features in front of him now. He'd finally settled upon Janet Reno by the time he found his back against the same wall he'd been shackled to only a few minutes earlier. And still, Thirteen moved closer.

"I don't mind if you like me," the boy commented, nearly pressing his chest against Eight's own body, his voice low and sensual. "I'll take it as a compliment, if you don't mind."

Breathing heavily, an expression of hopefulness entered Eight's features. "Y-you will?"

Thirteen smiled languidly, his hand reaching up to Eight's chest. Slowly, he dragged it downward, ghosting fingers over the leather material around the zipper of Eight's jacket. Across the room, Zexion raised his eyes in exasperation but held his tongue.

"Of course," Thirteen replied, his voice taking on a soothing quality as his hand slipped ever lower.

Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the expression was gone, replaced by cold calculation in record time. "What I  _won't_  tolerate is fucking up this assignment over something as insignificant as your wounded pride."

Thirteen turned on his heel a moment later, ignoring the stunned look on Eight's face.

"And Axel," he continued, turning to look over one shoulder almost as an afterthought, "learn to pay better attention to your surroundings. Idle hands are…" Thirteen smiled again, revealing a small square of a leather wallet within his grip, before tossing it to an almost gleeful Twelve nearby. "…well, I'm sure you already know that one."

"Fascinating, I'm sure." Pinching the bridge of nose between two fingers in irritation, Zexion rolled up the bank plans a moment later, tucking them under one arm, before making his way toward the door. Behind him, a smug looking Thirteen followed his lead, tailed closely by a stupefied Eight and a gloating Twelve.

"I like this new guy," Zexion heard vaguely as he increased the distance between him and what he hoped wouldn't be an utter disaster of an upcoming assignment.

"Your middle name's  _Diamonte_?" Another snicker, this time from both Thirteen and Twelve. "Who the hell names their kid Axel Diamonte?"

As he turned a corner, Zexion looked skyward at the concrete ceiling, momentarily wondering if now was a good time to find religion.

"Fuck the fuck off, Larxene. This isn't funny."

The further he got from his crew, the quieter their voices became, until they were just echoes along cold corridor walls.

"If this is how he operates, I can't wait to see Thirteen in action…"

Yes, well, Zexion thought. They would see, wouldn't they? They all, very soon, would see.


End file.
